


leave this blue neighborhood

by modernpatroclus



Series: I would know him blind [1]
Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Abuse, Domestic Violence, High School AU, M/M, Modern AU, Modern Setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-05-25 23:11:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6213937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/modernpatroclus/pseuds/modernpatroclus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Achilles and Patroclus don't lie to each other. Patroclus isn't lying, exactly. He's just... omitting information, right?</p><p>Or: Achilles finds out something he wished he'd noticed much sooner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. anything but quiet

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from "Wild" by Troye Sivan.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patroclus misses school for a week straight, and Achilles is worried.  
> Prequel to the original work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this at like 3am last night/this morning, so it probably sucks but I had to get it written. In any case, here it is.  
> Enjoy!  
> The chapter title is from "The Quiet" by Troye Sivan.

When Patroclus doesn’t show up to school on Monday, Achilles doesn’t panic.

It’s not unusual for Patroclus to miss school occasionally, though if he didn’t know any better Achilles would take him for the type to never miss. He never explains, and Achilles doesn’t push.

Today he doesn’t worry because he’d just seen Patroclus the night before. He’d come over after track practice to help Patroclus study for his upcoming AP biology exam. It’d been late when he left, so he’s not worried that something could’ve gone wrong in that time.

But come Wednesday, Patroclus still isn’t in school. Achilles can’t ignore the concern gnawing at his stomach by this point. Not only is three days straight very unusual for Pat to miss, but his exam is that day, so Patroclus definitely wouldn’t miss without an extenuating circumstance. It’s the exam that determines college credit, and Achilles knows how important it is that Pat does well. His father has already made it clear that he won’t be helping Pat pay for college, so he’s been stretching himself thin since freshman year to do as well as possible to earn a scholarship and get far away from his father.

Achilles doesn’t know Patroclus’ whole relationship with his father; he just knows that the man resents his son for “causing” the car accident that claimed his mother’s wellbeing with permanent head trauma. (What Achilles doesn’t know is that his mother had been picking him up from daycare when she crashed. He was in the car, too, but his father cared only for the wife who could no longer take care of him, left him with a disappointment of a son to raise alone, and hospital bills to pay for life because he couldn’t take care of her at home. Achilles only knows that Pat’s father hates that his son isn’t a star athlete, and thinks that college is a waste if not for sports.)

The situation is only more worrying by the fact that Patroclus doesn’t have a phone. His father, again, refuses to pay.

He’ll go over after practice, Achilles vows to himself. Just to check on him, and make sure that he’s okay.

But when Achilles knocks on the door, no one answers. When he walks around the side, he sees Pat’s bedroom light is off through the window. He’s not there, and the concern becomes fully fledged worry.

He doesn’t know what to do other than wait. But by midnight, the house is still dark. His father should’ve been home hours ago.

Achilles reluctantly goes home, his trip only serving to heighten his fears instead of assure him.

* * *

By Friday, Patroclus is still MIA.

Achilles doesn’t even go home after practice this time. He heads straight to Pat’s instead.

With a flare of hope, he sees Pat’s father’s car in the driveway. Menoetius answers the door like Achilles has interrupted the most important meeting of his life.

“You. What do you want?” he asks, rudely. Menoetius hates Achilles almost as much as his own mother, Thetis, hates Pat. He resents Achilles, the son he always wanted. And he knows that the two boys are more than friends; he hates that most of all.

“Where is he?” Achilles asks, past the point of pleasantries. He can’t stand the way this man treats Patroclus, and he’s starting to suspect that he may have something to do with Pat’s unexplained disappearance.

“He’s sick. Highly contagious,” he adds, putting an arm in the door when Achilles makes to come in.

“I don’t care. I want to see him,” Achilles says, undeterred. When Menoetius doesn’t move, they stare each other down. Finally, Achilles concedes, a plan forming in his mind. “Okay, can you tell him I came by then?” he asks, already knowing he won’t.

“Sure. Go home, kid.”

Achilles walks down the street until he’s sure Menoetius isn’t watching anymore, then goes back to Pat’s window.

There’s a tree sturdy enough to climb, and Achilles has snuck in with it before. But it’s difficult, and the jump isn’t exactly quiet. If he’s too loud, he’ll only bring Pat’s father in, and the man will have the tree cut down by this time tomorrow.

Achilles climbs carefully until he’s level with the window. He manages to land on the ledge that’s just wide enough for him to balance on, before knocking on the glass. The light is still off, but Achilles is sure that Pat is inside.

It’s minutes before Pat’s letting him in, brown eyes wide and a warning already on his lips.

“What are you doing? You’re gonna get hurt one of these days! Either you’ll fall, or my father will kill you.” But he’s already moved aside to let Achilles in.

Achilles doesn’t answer. He sweeps Patroclus with a gaze, searching for signs of injury. Pat is wearing long sleeves and pants, so Achilles doesn’t see anything.

When he’s satisfied, he tackles Pat in a fierce hug, and Pat stumbles backwards in response, letting out a nearly inaudible groan.

“Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick!” he whisper-shouts. “And you missed your exam,” he adds as an afterthought.

Patroclus sits on the edge of his bed, gingerly, and covers his face with his hands. “I know. Don’t remind me.”

Achilles sits next to him and turns so he’s facing Pat, taking his hands in his.

“Hey,” he whispers, too conscious of Pat’s father lurking downstairs. “Talk to me. What’s happening?”

Patroclus takes his hands away from his face, but when he lifts his head, he stares at a point just over Achilles’ shoulder, not meeting his eyes. Achilles doesn’t miss it.

“Patroclus.” _Pa-tro-clus_. “Please don’t shut me out. Whatever it is, I can make it better.”

But Patroclus flinches away, his voice cracked when he says, “No you can’t. It won’t get better until I’m out of here.”

“Pat, you know you can always stay with me,” he says, but Pat levels him with a glare.

“No, I can’t. I can’t just leave.” He’s so obstinate that Achilles lets it go for the moment.

“Okay, fair enough. But will you please tell me why you haven’t been in school all week?”

“I’ve been sick,” Pat says, looks away. Lying.

Achilles tries to ignore the hurt he feels. They never lie to each other. He tries to tell himself to be reasonable, though. There’s clearly something bigger going on here than he thought.

He takes a deep breath and hovers a hand over Patroclus’, waiting silently for Pat to signal an okay. Pat gives the slightest of nods, and Achilles cradles Pat’s hand in both of his. If he notices the hearts Achilles is tracing into his skin, he doesn’t say anything.

“I just don’t want you to hurt. I know I can’t fix all your problems, but I couldn’t forgive myself if I knew something was wrong and I didn’t try.” It’s a whisper, but Patroclus hears the words like an echo.

Biting his lip, he slowly lifts up his shirt. His abdomen is a muted rainbow of purples and blues and a few fading greens that definitely had _not_ been there a week ago, the last time Achilles had seen him shirtless. He sees the outline of a shoe, and he can’t decide if he’s going to cry or vomit. Maybe both.

Patroclus still won’t meet Achilles’ eyes, but he knows the moment Achilles puts it all together.

“Oh my god, Pat!” he nearly shouts when he finally finds his voice. He yanks his hands away like Patroclus is an open flame, only, Achilles is the one afraid of inflicting damage.

“Shhh, he’ll hear you!”

“I don’t care. Look what he did to you! I’ll kill him,” he fumes, heading for the door.

Patroclus catches his wrist and tugs weakly. Achilles could pull out of his hold easily, but he stays and gently guides Patroclus back to the bed. He makes Pat lay down, back to the headboard, and Achilles sits in front of him.

When they’re settled, Achilles looks up, tears glistening in his green eyes, and says, “I can’t believe I didn’t notice. He’s done this the whole time I’ve known you, hasn’t he?” Patroclus is suddenly extremely interested in his hands.

“You’re not okay.”

Pat lashes out like it’s an accusation. He yanks his hands away and tries to stand, but the pain is too much. “I’m _fine_ , Achilles. I deserved –“

“Patroclus, don’t you dare say that you deserved it. No one deserves this, especially not you – the sweetest, most loyal boy I’ve ever met. You always try so hard to please him, and it’s never good enough. He doesn’t deserve to have you as a son, _not_ the other way around.”

There’s so much conviction in those words that the defensive edge around Pat melts away. Tears form in his eyes, and Achilles sees just how tired Patroclus looks.

“You are not okay. None of this is. But please, let me help you,” he begs, taking Pat’s hands back in his own.

“Hey,” he whispers when he notices Pat worrying his lip between his teeth. “What can I do to help?”

“I’m not sure you can,” Pat whispers, and the truth to his words – how truly Patroclus believes them – fills Achilles with despair. How anyone could hurt someone so kindhearted and caring as Patroclus is unfathomable to him. It’s a far from healthy thought, but Achilles knows that if given the chance, he would trade places with Patroclus in an instant.

“Let me,” he says, gazing pleadingly into Patroclus’ eyes.

He thinks for a moment, trying to consider an offer that won’t overwhelm Pat, or get immediately vetoed. “How about if you start staying over on the weekends? My dad loves you, he won’t care. That way I’ll at least know you’re safe until I make different arrangements with my mother.”

He doesn’t say anything else, instead watching Pat mull over the offer. He feels a twinge of hope at the look on Pat’s face; he’s considering it.

“I’m willing to do that. But I don’t want you to have to go to court or fight with your mom over me. I’ll be fine here until graduation.”

Achilles starts to protest, but Pat cuts him off. “There’s only a few more months until summer, Achilles. Then I’ll be able to stay over a lot more because you’ll be with your dad.”

Achilles still wants to fight him on it, insist that he’ll gladly stop staying with his mom if it means that Patroclus is safe from his father. But he also knows that the best way to lose Patroclus’ confidence is to push him, so it will have to be enough for now. It’s not a full concession, but hopefully after a few straight weeks with him at Peleus’ this summer will get Patroclus to see how bad his own father is.

“Promise me that if things get this bad again, you’ll let me make arrangements with my parents.”

“Okay.” At Achilles’ look of disbelief, Patroclus gives him a wry smile. “I know you, and I know you blame yourself for not noticing anything. I know you said what my father does isn’t my fault, but I’m not going to make you watch and not let you do anything to help me. If it gets bad, I’ll come over, and if he does anything extreme, I promise I won’t fight you on going to your parents.”

Achilles swallows past the lump in his throat, and he pulls Patroclus to him in a gentle but fierce embrace. “Thank you for letting me help you. I can’t imagine how hard all of this is for you. But I promise that you don’t have to deal with it alone anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought with a comment! They really do make my day. :)


	2. anything but quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Achilles is the only one who knows what happens inside the walls of Pat's home. He's tried in vain to get Pat to move out since he found out.  
> But when the latest fight ends with a 3 AM call from the hospital, Achilles draws the line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I really just wanted to write something cute and fluffy, but... This happened. **It deals heavily with domestic violence.**  
>  ~~This has been sitting in my drafts for a while now, so I can't remember if it's totally shitty.~~  
> [ Inspired by this post.](http://demipatroclus.tumblr.com/post/140768811547/perseusblue-today-at-school-in-the-hallway)  
>  The chapter title is from "The Quiet" by Troye Sivan.

 

Pat watches Achilles’ retreating figure in the dark, just the slightest hint of his golden hair catching in the moonlight.

When he can no longer see him, Pat sighs and turns over in the dark. It’s too still, too silent without him, his unending warmth of both heart and soul that radiates in the dead of night.

But before Pat can try to find solace in dreams of dimpled smiles and loose golden curls, the front door opens below him.

Pat freezes in the dark, terrified. He hadn’t heard his father get up, but they were always careful not to be loud. Getting caught was something from Pat’s worst nightmares.

His father was callous on a good day. Thinking about what he would do if he caught his son sneaking around with Achilles in the middle of the night right under his nose made him feel sick.

Pat’s father hates everything about his effeminate son, from his small stature and insecure disposition (the first a result of genes, the second a result of his parenting methods – but he would never admit either) to his clumsy attempts at athleticism. So he hits him.

It started with what would have passed in the 60s as normal parental “discipline.” But the whippings he got as a young child progressed as he aged, getting steadily more violent and less excusable with each hit, as if Menoetius was trying to push his son’s limits and somehow forge a greater son from the broken pieces.

As horribly as Pat’s father treats him, however, there may be an even stronger contender on the list of people who somehow hate the 16 year old’s existence: Thetis.

Achilles’ mother knows the nature of his relationship with her son, and she spends most of her allotted time with him trying to prevent the two from seeing each other.

She is the sole reason why Pat is only able to escape his father’s miserable clutches on the weekends. Achilles stays with Thetis during the week, and his father Peleus on weekends and most of summer break. Peleus has absolutely no qualms with Pat staying over every weekend. He even declared the guest bedroom officially Pat’s, though it is a gesture in name only, because Pat always sleeps in Achilles’ room with him. Peleus knows they’re together, but he doesn’t care. So long as they don’t leave without telling him and aren’t off being reckless, he lets them do as they wish with him.

Achilles absolutely loathes the arrangement with his mother. He doesn’t know the extent of Menoetius’ psychological cruelty towards Pat, but he sees the physical evidence every week, always with new additions marring his scarred skin.

He would fight his mother and beg his father to reevaluate his living arrangements, but Pat always convinces him not to. _One more year_ , he’d say. _One more year and then we can both leave_. They’ve already planned out what they’ll do for college. They’ve both sent in applications to the same schools, and whichever will have them is where they’ll spend their next four years as Pat goes through nursing school and Achilles takes General Studies until he decides his major. But they’ll be together, thanks to Peleus’ promise of renting out an apartment off-campus big enough for two.

So instead of forcing them all into a nasty court battle for his sake, they’ve compromised a way to keep Pat away from home as much as possible.

During the week, Pat watches Achilles’ track practices after school with Bri, his best friend and only other confidant to his home life. Then, together they walk to Bri’s where they do homework – well, Pat does homework while Achilles pesters him for his attention and Bri watches from the couch, pelting food at Achilles when he succeeds at distracting Pat with an impromptu make out session _in my living room_ – until Achilles has to go have dinner with his mother. Pat stays at Bri’s for dinner, her family treating him the same as all of Bri’s siblings after ten years of friendship. Then she drops him off at home, just in time for his father to retire to his bedroom, most nights too tired from work to do much more than jab cruel words on Pat’s late arrival.

And on the weekends, Pat lets Achilles tend to every cut, kiss every bruise his father inflicts, with tender caresses and soft whispers of promises he knows will never be broken. It is just enough to get him out of bed in the morning, no matter how sore from his father’s tantrums, or how unworthy he is from years of constantly being told so. Every day is another battle won, every weekend a reward in the haven of Achilles’ love.

Until the Menoetius goes too far.

As Pat strains to listen for his father’s footsteps up the stairs, he contemplates just running, before his father can even touch him. But Pat has never been fast enough, or strong enough, and it would only fuel his father’s rage more.

The door creaks on its hinges as it swings open, and Pat clutches his comforter in a white-knuckled death grip, squeezing his eyes shut in a too-late attempt to feign sleep.

“Who the hell just snuck out of here?” his father demands, flicking on the light and yanking the covers off of Pat, momentarily blinding him.

He takes too long to respond in his disoriented state, so his father wraps a cold hand around his throat. _I should’ve worn a shirt,_ Pat thinks, terrified. If he had been, his father would have grabbed that. But instead he went for the only other – and much worse – option.

Pat chokes in his attempts to take in air through his crushed lungs, and black spots dance in his vision.

He flings his limbs in a wild attempt to free himself, and he accidentally (but not unfortunately) punches his father in the gut. Surprised, he relinquishes his hold on Pat, who falls onto the floor.

His father recovers before Pat does, and he delivers swift kick after kick to Pat’s exposed abdomen, spewing hateful words mingled with profanities all the while.

Pat tries to use his hands to protect himself, but it’s dark and he thinks he hit his head and his father is just _too strong_ for it to do much good. Blindly, he crawls in the general direction of the window, feeling for _something_ to hold on to. He latches on to the window ledge, trying to dodge his father’s ceaseless blows and bellowing words. It’s not difficult, as his head is spinning and he can’t breathe, and he knows that if he wasn’t already on the ground, he’d have collapsed right there.

Menoetius is relentless, but Pat’s fight-or-flight response is in full gear for once, and he attempts one shallow breath to brace himself before he flings himself out the second story window and onto the hard earth waiting invisibly and impossibly far below in the night.

If he was winded before, now his lungs feel like a vacuum. He thinks that this is how it must feel to be exposed to space without a helmet.

Pat landed on his back, and he slowly pushes himself onto his side before he vomits. When his airways are finally clear, he takes in a few shaky breaths that do nothing but exacerbate the black spots in his vision. He forces himself to crawl away from the house and into the shelter of a neighbor’s bushes, where pain and exhaustion war inside him. Eventually, he passes out from the pain, a soundless cry falling on deaf ears.

* * *

When he comes to, the first thing Pat registers is _pain_. But after he forces himself into a sitting position, pausing every few seconds to breathe deeply through his nose as the pain spikes and recedes in a vicious pattern, he remembers everything.

Briefly, Pat wonders if Achilles heard the crash from his fall. _He is too fast_. _He is already halfway home by now. He has no idea._ Pat tries to take comfort in the fact that no one is witness to his struggle to stand, much less actually _walk_ someplace, which he’s already dreading. Somewhere in the fight or the fall – it’s all a dark, painful blur – Pat broke his leg. He’s going to have to walk on it now, and the thought brings a wave of nausea.

He longs to go to Achilles, the only person he isn’t ashamed to see in his state. But it’s the last place he should go with Thetis lurking around, another demon in another dark house.

He would go to Briseis, but her house is off the highway, and Pat just escaped possible death once tonight. He isn’t eager to tempt fate again.

So he goes to Peleus.

The graying man opens the door with a bewildered expression, which shifts to horror when he registers what he’s seeing: Patroclus, shirtless and clad only in boxers in the April night, torso littered in bruises and scars he’d never known of, throat a raw red with what can only be fingerprints, pale with pain, and half-collapsed on a clearly broken leg.

“Oh my god,” is all he says as he stares, wide-eyed and horrified at the battered boy.

(He knew there were problems at home, but he never pushed for details, never wanting to push Pat away in discomfort and further into a bad situation. He’d always made it clear that, although Achilles had to leave during the week, Pat was always welcome to stay with Peleus if he wished. Pat always graciously declined, and Peleus thought he was doing the right thing by not pushing.

But he had no idea how terrible Pat, always too quiet but so kind, really had it.)

“Can I stay here?” Pat grits through his teeth, voice almost unrecognizable with pain.

That snaps Peleus from his stupor, and he’s immediately but carefully helping Pat inside. He leads him to the couch and grabs a tee shirt and his cell phone, handing Pat the shirt.

Peleus levels Pat with a look of serious concern, making sure that Pat meets his eyes before he speaks. “You don’t have to tell me anything right now, but I am going to want some answers after we get you taken care of.” Pat starts to protest at the subtle reference to a hospital, no doubt flooding his mind with a lifetime of threats from his father if he ever told anyone about the violence. “Patroclus,” he says, and Pat obediently closes his mouth, clenching his jaw instead. “Your leg is broken. I can’t fix it for you. You’re going to have to see a doctor. You can’t walk around on a broken leg like you can hide bruises under a shirt.”

Pat’s face goes impossibly whiter, a stark contrast to the rest of his olive skin. But after a moment, he swallows and nods, taking a shaky breath before starting to stand. Peleus helps him into his car, and when they’re on the road he gives him his phone.

“Call Achilles. If we wait to tell him, he’ll kill both of us.”

Pat lets out a poor attempt at a laugh and dials. Achilles picks up on the third ring, his voice confused but alert. He must have just gotten home, probably due to detouring for a run on his way home. He was like a puppy with the endless energy he possessed.

“Dad?”

“It’s me,” Pat says, and on the other end he hears shuffling, like the pushing back of covers. Already he can sense that something is wrong.

“Patroclus. What’s wrong? Why –“ he starts to ask, urgency mixed with a terror he so rarely possesses, but Pat cuts him off.

“After you left . . .” Hyperaware of Peleus next to him, Pat monitors his words carefully. It’s futile, he knows; tonight’s dramatic appearance marked a turning point, and Pat will have to come clean in the morning. But for now, he just wants to get through the doctors. “Something happened. I went to your dad, and he’s taking me to the hospital.” It’s not enough, not for either of them. But Achilles accepts it.

“I’ll be right there.”

* * *

The door to the waiting room opens, and the air in the room grows tense and heavy, like a veil was dropped. Pat looks over, and immediately understands why.

Achilles is more lion than man in that moment, ferocious like a werewolf under a full moon.

(He has always commanded so much more with his mere presence than any other 16 year old had a right to. When they were freshmen, before Pat ever spoke to him, he resented Achilles for the strange pull he had on him. It wasn’t until a few months later, when they were paired up for a project and Pat actually got to know him, that he realized the feeling was attraction – and that it was mutual.)

“What happened?” Achilles demands, his entire presence a fury, a whirlwind, of anger and concern and fear.

Peleus simply looks at Pat, letting him choose how much to reveal just yet. When he sees the boy struggle for words, he puts a hand on Pat’s shoulder and looks up at his own son. “It can wait. Right now, he needs to get his leg taken care of. Then rest. After, we can have the heavy conversation.”

Pat has never much trusted or liked older men after his own father, but Peleus is like Achilles in the strange but undeniably likable air he affects. Pat can’t help but like him. He flashes the man a grateful look before shifting to look at Achilles.

“I’ll explain later, I promise.”

Achilles meets his stare almost searchingly, and if it were anyone else, Pat would be uncomfortable. But it’s Achilles, and he would never try to take more than Pat is willing to give. After a minute, he nods and occupies the seat next to Pat. Achilles takes his hand and traces imaginary lines in Pat’s palm with his index finger until Pat is called back.

* * *

“You are never going back there,” Achilles vows, a statement that allows no protests.

He’s holding Pat’s hand as the doctor sets his leg in the cast, letting Pat squeeze it bloodless as he fights not to make a sound.

He still hasn’t gotten an explanation, but Achilles isn’t stupid. He knows Menoetius did this. He hasn’t even gotten a look at Pat’s torso yet to assess the new damage there, but he knows it won’t be pretty. No, Pat is going to stay with Peleus. And Achilles will fight his mother so that he can stay with Pat.

Pat stays quiet, not wanting the doctor to overhear anything. He knows his throat is red, and he’s covered in dirt from his fall. But so far the doctor has refrained from giving him an inquisition, and Pat doesn’t want to test his luck. So he gives Achilles’ hand another squeeze, this time in acknowledgement, and gives him a look of reassurance. Pat has no intentions of going back to his father after tonight. It’s not the fact that Menoetius went so far, though. It’s because of Peleus’ reaction.

Pat was an absolute wreck when he showed up on the man’s doorstep at 3 in the morning, but Peleus didn’t demand any answers or force anything more than the necessary medical treatment. Whatever doubts Pat had about the man are overpowered by his decisions tonight.

Besides, he knows that neither Achilles nor Peleus will let him go back now. Achilles will berate himself for allowing Pat to stay as long as he did, and Peleus will question how he couldn’t see what was happening. Letting him return to Menoetius now is out of the question.

“If I ever see him again I may kill him,” Achilles says later, after the doctor leaves the room and they’re alone. (Could it really only be a few hours ago that they were alone in a different room, Pat not whole – not even close to fine – but okay in that moment? Achilles thinks it much farther away, the memory hazy and not at all fitting with the rest of the night.)

“Let’s hope we never see him again,” Pat responds dryly.

Achilles gives him an incredulous look. “How can you not hate him? After everything he’s done to you, how he’s treated you?”

“Because it’s all I’ve ever known. I grew up thinking it was normal. And he told me that I deserved it. I believed him.”

“You don’t. You don’t deserve any of it,” Achilles tells him fiercely, and it’s almost enough for Pat to believe him.

* * *

 

Both Pat and Achilles had skipped school following the night from hell, sleeping most of the day and talking about what happened before Peleus went to Pat’s house to retrieve some of his things while Menoetius was at work.

So it’s not until Friday that Pat has the displeasure of attempting to hobble around the school on crutches. They‘re painful under his arms, they’re slow, and they make him even more clumsy than usual.

But it’s not all bad. He has Achilles at his back to stop people from shoving into him and knocking him over in the crowded hallways. Although, to his chagrin, by fifth period Achilles takes to less subtle measures of keeping people out of Pat’s way.

“Hey, watch it! Boy on crutches coming through! He’s injured!” he yells, waving his arms around to clear a path directly around them. Kids laugh or stare in disbelief, teachers glare and chastise, and Pat tries – unsuccessfully – to stop him.

“Achilles, you’re making it a way bigger deal than it is,” he scolds in a whisper, his face burning from the unwanted attention.

“Nonsense,” Achilles replies, not even looking back at Pat. “Can’t have some idiot knock you over and hurt you again, can we?” he reasons, his face serious from what Pat can see behind him.

Pat rolls his eyes. “You are so dramatic.” He decides to give up for now and let Achilles outlive his delusions. He knows it comes from a place of both genuine concern and guilt over not putting his foot down and stopping things sooner. Pat, in turn, feels guilt over fighting so hard to stay with his father and letting Achilles’ worry burn him up inside.

(It will take years for them to stop blaming themselves, and to solely place the blame where it truly belongs with Pat's father, but right now it’s enough that they have each other to reassure, _Of course_ _it’s not your fault_.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make my day!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments make my day!


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